Like The Snow
by Ardendaeas
Summary: A little bit of fluff set in the Phantom's three month absense from the Opera. Originally written for a contest on Deviant Art. ChristineRaoul & ChristineErik present.


A.N. -- Disclaimer: I own nofting! Nofting, I tell you! All kudos go to ALWebber and Gaston Leroux/Susan Kay, etc. This is based of the 2004 ALW movie, originally written for a contest on Deviant Art. I didn't win, but it was fun anyway. So, yeah, I don't own anything except the writing itself. Don't sue. You'll only get about fourty bucks anyway. Not worth it, in my opinion.

And don't get me wrong, I'm no Raoul/Christine fan. I'm Erik/Christine the whole way, but I _do_support Raoul and Christine's platonic friendship, and they can be cute together at times.

This is set in the Phantom's three month absense from terrorizing the Opera Populairre. (For those of you who didn't read the book and didn't pick up on the slight hint in the movie.) So, without further ado...

Like The Snow

A rosy flush rose to Christine's cheeks, and a her smile only widened as she hiked up her skirts above her boot-clad feet and ran laughing through the Paris snow from the night before. "You're going to have to run faster than that, Raoul!" she called like the young child she had been long ago, when they had played together, in the house by the sea.

How she loved the snow. It was so white, so pure, and sparkled like diamonds in the sunshine. Though it may be trampled into slush and mud underneath countless feet and carriages in the Paris streets, somewhere, in the country, at least, there was somewhere where it remained undisturbed, save for as it dropped off of tree branches, or the light, dainty steps of some animal.

And also, she remembered the many snowball fights that had occurred between Raoul and herself, until their faces were flushed with cold, and they fled to the warm interior of her father's house, to listen to a song or two from his violin, and snuggle together under a blanket, and share a warm drink between the two of them in front of the fire, till they fell asleep.

"Come on, Raoul, try to keep up!" she laughed, looking behind her to see the handsome face of her childhood friend, and current lover, grinning, yet red with cold as he sprinted to catch her.

A girlish giggle escaped her, as she removed her warm gloves and tucked them into a pocket of her cloak, feigning to trip and land on her knees in a patch of clean snow, disguising the action as she gathered a ball of snow in her hands, delighting in the cold against her slim fingers, and hide the rough sphere by her side as Raoul came up beside her, his face concerned, as she had expected. He often treated her delicately, like she was a piece of china, but sometimes, she liked it that way.

"Christine, are you alright?" he asked softly, breath rising in a small cloud, dropping to a crouch beside her, his face worried. "Are you hurt?"

"No, Raoul," she answered, as he helped her to her feet. Her smile widened and she pegged him in the chest with the snowball.  
He stood there in shock for a moment, mouth slack, like that of a school boy, before his blue eyes twinkled and a laugh escaped him as he ran to catch her as she bolted away with a laugh of her own.

"Got you!" he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around her sides, spun her with a flurry of snow, and grinned down at her, chest heaving slightly, as their breath escaped them in little white clouds like escaping souls. "I say, that was rather underhanded of you, my dear."

"Oh, nonsense! How many times have we done that to each other as children? Really, Raoul, I wouldn't have expected you to fall for that!"

"An interesting choice of words, _mon amour_," he added slyly, causing her to laugh.

"Raoul…"

They stood there, as time seemed to freeze, wide brown eyes staring into sparkling blue ones, and slowly, their lips met as Raoul pulled her into a deep kiss.

Erik gnashed his teeth at the sight, feeling the beginnings of despair and rage once again rising to the surface of his thoughts. But then, of late, when had they _not_ been there? Curse her, and the boy.

A growl rose in the Phantom's throat as he kicked at an offending snow bank that dared to block his path on the way back to the Opera Populaire. It was nearly a month into the Opera Ghost's absence, and each time he saw his beloved Christine and the vicomte together, it only served to raise his anger more. Better that he retreat again into his subterranean lair and continue work on _Don Juan Triumphant._

And, best that he try to get his mind off of Christine and her foppish little lover… Let his thoughts turn to the weather, yes, the snow…

But it was no good. That, too, reminded him of Christine. Of her coldness and disregard to him as she had accepted the vicompte on the roof nearly a month previous. Was he really that evil? He only did what he did to survive, and keep his anonymity. Well, and attempt, (Unsuccessfully, he thought glumly), to win Christine.

He let out a curse and kicked at another snow bank, startling a stray dog that fled his anger through an alley. There it was again, the subject of Christine, opened again like salt rubbed into a fresh wound.

Why could he not be like the cleansing snow; cold and ignorant of the rest of the world? Why couldn't he too be cold and uncaring? And why, oh why, did the world trouble in his affairs with other men? Why could he not just be left in peace to nurture the musical angel he saw in Christine, and to love her, and make her love him in return?

It's not fair, he thought spitefully, and neither is the world; life. But then, who would expect it to be fair, to one such as him?

Yes, it would be a blessing to be like the snow, cold, uncaring, unconcerned in the affairs of other men. But then, he thought with slight revulsion, would he have ever taken an interest in Christine, ever come to know love? It was both a blessing and a curse, to be uncaring and unconcerned, cold, like the snow that fell thick and heavy in Paris in the depth of winter.

But, oh, still, the snow was blessed. Maybe he should have been a snowflake, instead of a man. Then, at least, he could have chosen to have fallen on Christine, into that mouth that could exhibit such exquisite sound, maybe?… And that damn vicompte would have had to content himself as a man.

Blue-green eyes flicked momentarily to the cloudy, iron gray sky as the snow began to fall once again, and a slight, bittersweet smile found its way onto Erik's face.


End file.
